Falling Debris
by SilverCaladan
Summary: Heros are not saints, but do the thoughts matter when placed against an action?


A/N: I took a break from my normal section to write a one-shot concerning a scene in the movie _Independence Day_ that has always bothered me very much. It is rather short, but if you have seen the movie, I hope you can see where the fic fits. Also, I made up a name that was individual, yet typical at the same time. If the soldier in the movie had an actual name I would love to find it out and substitute it, but this will do for now.

**_If you are offended by religion or religious acts of any kind, I suggest you leave now. The main basis of this fic is a Christian prayer, shown throughout the fic in italics. _**

This is basically unedited, so expect changes to be made in the future (I don't care if you read it again, but whatever). Oh, and **Vee**, if you ever see this... please edit it for me? ^_^. Miss ya, dear.

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Falling Debris

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_Hail Mary_

My name is Jonathon Marst. I am a soldier.

The United States Army took me in at the tender age of 18 and cared for my every need. My family (God rest their souls) didn't have enough money to pay for college and I didn't have the smarts to try for a scholarship of any kind. But the Army, well, they love well-meaning brutes like me. They recruit us by the dozen, put us through college, give our families benefits, and send us off to die for the greater good. 

Not that I'm complaining, mind. 

Some guys like the strictness of protocol that is imposed upon us, some are in it for the benefits, some just drifted into the job like they do through life, some have a family tradition to uphold, and a few wackos actually enjoy the killing. I don't fit any of those, really. I don't wake up and put on this uniform every morning simply because it gives me a direction in life. I like helping people. I like getting dirty and seeing the immediate effects of my help. None of that behind-the-scenes crap for me.

_Full of grace_

So what the hell was I _doing_ at Area 51?

Seems I do have a useful talent; at least in the Army. I know when and how to keep my mouth shut and I'm good at watching things. They put me on rotation with the MPs; one week perimeter duty, one week guard duty. 

I shoulda joined the National Guard. Same benefits, but on-the-spot disaster relief. Pull people out of debris, rescue towns from floods, extinguish wildfires... all that heroic crap. 

Gallant tendencies aside, I'd rather be one of the lucky civilians already huddled down in the halls of this once top-secret base. It's a thrill of adrenaline, standing here at the brink of the hangar, pulling panicking civilians to safety and facing down the alien lasers... but a part of me just wants to huddle in a corner somewhere and shit myself, I'm so scared. 

_The Lord is with thee_

My M-16 automatic rifle is just deadweight on my back; completely unable to get past the shields those buggers have. Nothing we have gets past them. It's weird; this helpless feeling. I can't do a thing to protect myself; I have to trust that whatever cock-eyed plan the remaining officers have launched will work and do my duty to get these people to safety. 

Safety being relative, of course. The "safety" people on the television always preach about how, in an emergency, you need to use the stairwell, and not the elevator. Well, I don't think they ever took into consideration that the stairwell might be collapsing right on top of you while the elevator is enclosed in triple reinforced steel. Hell, I don't even think this base _has_ a stairwell; too much of a security risk, I'd imagine. 

_Blessed art thou among women_

Still, with all the debris that is falling up here, it is hard to imagine that anything could be any better down below. Each close blast sends shrapnel flying through the air, and produces concussive blasts that threaten to knock me off my feet. Yet still, the civilians keep coming. That blonde presidential aide—or whatever the fuck she is—is still standing behind me, calming the panicked people rushing by with her pretty face. I don't know why she doesn't retreat like practically everyone else has in the face of danger. I've thought about retreating... but what would I be retreating to? Survivor's guilt? Death under tons of concrete, steel, and dirt? Vaporization by laser? 

Besides, some of my unit is still out, searching through the melted mobile homes and dodging flames, looking for civilians too stupid to heed the first call for evacuation. I'd be out there with them, but every time I try to run... some laser hits too close. That... and I'm too much of a coward.

_And blest is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus._

Momma raised me right. That is, she raised me to value my own life, and I can't help people if I die. It is incredibly selfish of me, I know, but, given the choice, I'd rather stay here by the elevator so that I can dart in at the last second, as every last civilian is found. I prefer to think of it as following my orders; I am, after all, staying at my post like a good soldier. 

_Holy Mary_

I listen over my radio as my friends and comrades get blown into pieces all over the place. That earpiece... the military says it is a blessing, but if you ask me, it is a curse. All it does is enable me to hear the screams of dying soldiers over the sound of concrete being pulverized. Why does it seem that every soldier that dies is trying to report that they've found someone? Those damn aliens must be drawn to movement. It's suicide. God, I envy those guys. They're doing what I don't have the courage to do. I mean... we're all just as good as dead anyway. My family died in that first attack on L.A. I have nothing to live for. And yet, I can't just run out and sacrifice myself. 

_Mother of God_

A woman and her little girl run from around the corner of a trailer, much farther down the line. They are too far. Oh so far. How the hell did they manage to survive this long, that far out from the buildings? 

I motion frantically at them, hoping that perhaps I have some undiscovered telekinesis that could kick in and rush them here before they get shot by some motion-alerted alien. The officer who came up with the blonde and the orders for evacuation yells at me and her that we have to go. I shrug him off, staring at the eyes of the child. 

_Pray for us sinners now_

She... is hypnotizing. Her eyes contain all of the fear and hope that I feel rushing around inside of my mind, but can't express. The fear that she will die without really getting a chance to live her life. The fear that, death, when it comes, will be painful instead of a blissful blackness. What really awaits us on the other side? Is there really a hell, heaven, and purgatory like the religions tell us? And what will heaven be like? Will it be the Valhalla of Norse legend or the clouds and angels with harps that popular culture portrays? 

Is this what they mean when they say that your "life flashes before your eyes" right before you die? I see my entire life reflected in that fear... and also the hope.

Hope in the form of the elevator behind me. Salvation in the form of my arms. I won't take that away from the girl. To loose all hope and salvation is a worse fate than death. That's why religions don't disappear, especially the peaceful ones that promise salvation in the afterlife. For all the experiences I have not felt yet, the guilt in seeing the hope die in her eyes as I leave would be so bad that... I might as well just shoot myself now rather than six months from now, assuming I survive. So I reach out to her, no longer gesturing and only reaching. 

Even if it is the last thing I do, I will guide that child to safety. The officer yells at me, and I feel the presence of the blonde disappear from behind me. But I won't go. I have to keep that hope alive. I have to rescue that little girl. I have to—

_And at the hour of our death._

_Amen._


End file.
